The wind still howls violently. Leaves kick up from trees that are far below them now, swirling in eddies. Her mother lets go and puts a hand on Jane’s head instead, absently running her fingers through Jane’s hair and picking out the tangles. After a moment, she begins separating sections, loosely braiding it in a way that makes Jane think her mother isn’t even aware she’s doing it.

“You’ve been very brave, Jane. Thank you.” Her mother uses her grown-up voice, the one for important and serious conversations with Jane’s father, and Uncle John and Uncle Michael. There’s a weariness in her tone, one Jane doesn’t miss. “I wish there was time to take you and Timothy somewhere safer, but there isn’t, so I need you to be brave for a little while longer. Can you do that?”

Jane nods, a different kind of too-big feeling filling her. Her mother’s hands still. Jane’s hair is so stiff with salt and wind and her time in Neverland that the braid holds without even the benefit of a ribbon to tie it in place. Her mother meets her eyes briefly, then smiles, though Jane sees the hollowness behind it. Her mother is afraid.

Even so, she bends to kiss the top of Jane’s head, and Jane allows herself to take comfort in it for the moment, and not think about what might come next.

“Everyone follow me inside.”

Jane startles at her mother’s words as much as her tone, brusque and commanding. Where is there to go? But as her mother leads them forward, she sees it—a narrow crack in the stone. And even as she notices it, she doesn’t want to notice it. It resists her eye, making her want to look away, to unsee it, so that trying to hold it in her mind hurts physically. Her chest tightens, verging on panic. She’s certain they’ll smash against the rock when they try to enter, and everything in her wants to dig in her heels and refuse to go. Can’t her mother see what a terrible idea this is?

But her mother has a hold of her hand again, and Jane has no choice but to follow as her mother slides through the too-narrow gap as easily as water. Before she has time to properly think about it, Jane is in the dark too, crammed between two bits of rock. It’s warmer almost at once, and it’s more than just being out of the wind. Sweat trickles down Jane’s spine, and she fights not to wheeze, not to fully give into fear and let her breath go at a wild, ragged gallop.